


The Disclaimer

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Postep, 4.22 "These Are The Voyages." Finale fix. (09/02/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: I watched the episode and started laughing.  
  
Thanks to my experimental Beta readers Bianca, SueC, Lt Black Fire and Shivvlan for their suggestions and encouragement. This is my first posting to the list and my first slash story.  


* * *

As the holodeck doors closed behind Riker and Troi for the last time the final segment of the program kicked in. The bridge of the NX-01 reappeared and, unlike in previous scenes, it was accurate in every detail—not cluttered with additional components that had actually belonged on the Columbia. In the Captain's chair sat the image of a dark-haired man, now a little grey around the temples, wearing semi- formal civilian clothing.

"This holonovel is a work of fiction based loosely on the events surrounding the last mission of the NX-01," he intoned in a crisp English accent. "It should not be relied upon to provide an accurate depiction of those events or the people involved in them. A historically accurate record of this mission is available on request from Starfleet Command."

The man glanced around for a few moments, sighed heavily and shrugged.

"Whassup, Malcolm?"

The image of Charles 'Trip' Tucker appeared behind the Captain's chair and leaned his elbows on the back of it so that he could look down at Malcolm Reed. Like Reed he was several years older than he appeared in the holonovel, thinner and less robust-looking. He wore an open-necked shirt and jeans.

"You know, I'm glad the publishers have agreed to add this disclaimer but I'm willing to bet no-one will ever stay to hear it; even if it does play automatically at the end of the program. Did you know some people have mistaken this for the official record? Can you imagine what they think of us based on this?"

"It's only a novel, Malcolm. A badly researched, poorly written novel at that. I guess Chef just wanted his fifteen minutes of fame."

Malcolm gave a derisive snort. "As if we'd all traipse down to the galley and chat about our personal lives like that. The man was the biggest gossip on the ship!" He turned in his seat and looked up at Tucker. "And I hate the way he's made you out to be some kind of uneducated grease-monkey. It's a matter of record that you finished your degree at Berkley concurrently with your Starfleet training. Not to mention the advanced degrees you seem to pop out every couple of years. How many is it now? Seven?"

"Eight, but who's countin'? It's because I never cite 'em, and it's easy to miss my first degree if you're not lookin' very hard 'cause it's in physics, not engineering. Not everyone's as picky about records as you are, Mal." He paused, resting his chin on one hand. "But he wasn't particularly kind to you either, was he? As if you'd have been snipin' about the seating arrangements at the ceremony if your best friend had been killed a couple of days before."

Reed gave Tucker his trademark half-smile. "But I wasn't even there, and you didn't die."

Tucker laid his hand on Reed's shoulder. "Thanks to you." They shared a long moment, both recalling the sequence of events that had almost, but not quite, claimed Trip's life, kept them both in sickbay while the Charter was signed, and effectively ended their Starfleet careers.

Realising that the raiders would kill both Shran and his child if they found them, Trip had jury-rigged the explosion that took them out, but his own lungs had been thermalised in the process. Phlox had kept him alive in the hyperbaric chamber long enough to discover a very old, but effective, method of saving his life. When he'd asked for a volunteer from Trip's compatible organ donors among the crew Malcolm didn't hesitate. He gladly donated one of his lungs to save his friend's life. The fact that they'd both been invalided out of the service with severely diminished lung capacity was a small price to pay.

Malcolm sighed. "I suppose he must have thought it was more dramatic to kill you off."

Trip threw up his hands in frustration. "But then he didn't even make it dramatic, did he? I disappear into the hyperbaric chamber and then pouf! T'Pol's packin' up my stuff."

"I suppose I must have been too distraught to do it," Malcolm quipped.

"No death scene, no announcement to the crew, no funeral ...not even a moment of stunned silence from the Captain," Trip continued. "If you're gonna kill off a major character you should really milk it for all it's worth."

"Well, as you said, the writing is appalling."

"Chef was always fixated on me and T'Pol, too," Trip mused. "Never got over the fact that we didn't end up together."

Malcolm sniggered. "I think he had a thing for T'Pol himself. I bet that's why he killed you off!"

Trip shrugged. "Coulda been, I guess. But by then I'd found someone who actually loved me back." His expression was warm as he gazed down into Malcolm's steely grey eyes.

Malcolm grinned back up at Trip. "And I'll bet that never makes it into the history books either."

"No reason why it should." Trip shrugged again.

"Come on, love," Malcolm said as he rose and came around behind the chair, holding out a hand to his partner. "Let's forget this piece of trash and go home."


End file.
